


Infinite Variety

by Phoenix_Soar



Series: Wicked Thing [12]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 17th Century, Anal Fingering, Angel/Demon Relationship, Door Sex, Elizabethan, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Intercrural Sex, M/M, Pillow Principality Aziraphale (Good Omens), Porn with Feelings, Scene: Globe Theatre 1601 (Good Omens), Service Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24529717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Soar/pseuds/Phoenix_Soar
Summary: He can just stay here, he thinks. He can stay and simply refuse to entertain Aziraphale’s implication that Crowley had made Hamlet a success - that he’d gone several hundred fucking miles out of his way to make real something that would make Aziraphale happy - just so that the Angel would spread his legs for him.Upon returning from Edinburgh to find Hamlet a raging success just as Crowley had promised, Aziraphale is eager to thank his friend. Crowley is perturbed.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Wicked Thing [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546879
Comments: 34
Kudos: 216





	Infinite Variety

**Author's Note:**

  * For [animeangelriku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/animeangelriku/gifts).



> Part 12 of my 'Wicked Thing' verse. Please read the first part ['Wicked Games'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21286790) to understand the premise of this series. (This fic also makes references to ['A long damp (k)night'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24117913))
> 
> This one is for animeangelriku, who ~~aside from leaving whopping dissertations on my Wicked Thing fics asldfjklfh~~ shares my view that frottage is an incredibly erotic but underrated act and there isn’t enough frottage smut in the world. Thank you for inspiring this instalment! 
> 
> This is set after the London Globe Theatre scene in 1601, upon Aziraphale's return from Edinburgh. This fic was an itch I just had to scratch. I hope you enjoy it <3

Crowley is a giving thing, as should be abhorrent to one of his damned ilk.

Crowley is a giving thing and he is doing it even right now as he smiles indulgently over his mead at Aziraphale, listening to the Angel gush over the packed Hamlet performance they attended earlier this afternoon.

The mead they are drinking is of a quality miles better than the inn’s actual stock, courtesy of Crowley. And Aziraphale currently looks like the happiest being in existence, also courtesy of Crowley.

It had been worth it to attend that gloomy blight of a play again, just to watch Aziraphale shine brighter than the blessed sun among the crowds Crowley’s clever miracle work had drawn to Shakespeare’s newest tragedy. Aziraphale has always been free with his smiles, but the sheer joy he exuded today was only eclipsed - arguably - by that of Shakespeare himself*.

(* That is, according to Aziraphale. He’d eagerly sought out the playwright’s stunned reaction to his full audience.

Crowley, meanwhile, had spared little attention to anyone besides Aziraphale for the three hours they were inside the theatre.)

With a pleased sigh, Aziraphale puts down his empty mug on the wooden table between them.

‘What a wonderful afternoon. It quite made up for that dreary ride back from Scotland.’

Crowley grins. ‘And what made it so dreary, the weather or your mode of transportation?’

Aziraphale glowers at him, though without any real heat. ‘Both, as you well know.’ He fidgets in his seat and winces.

Crowley feels a twinge of sympathy. ‘Bloody horses, eh?’

‘They are magnificent creatures -’ Aziraphale begins.

‘That gave you a magnificently sore arse,’ Crowley finishes with a grin.

Aziraphale huffs, looking indignant for a moment before his shoulders slump. ‘They _are_ rather hard on one’s behind, aren’t they?’

‘Why don’t you just,’ Crowley gives a careless flick of his fingers, ‘miracle the pain away?’

‘I do need to keep an eye on my miracle quota and usage,’ Aziraphale says primly, ignoring Crowley’s eye roll at the mention of Heaven’s frankly ridiculous rules.

‘Please, angel, as if you don’t dispense miracles to sober up without a second thought.’

‘Sobering up is important to keep one’s wits about,’ Aziraphale argues. ‘Besides, it is not as if I’m not used to a sore bottom -’ He abruptly cuts himself off.

Snorting, Crowley knocks back the last of his mead. ‘Rubbish. I know for a fact you don’t go gallivanting about on horses if you can help it.’

Aziraphale doesn’t reply, his eyes fixed on his mug. His face is red.

Crowley crocks an eyebrow, nonplussed.

The Angel looks up at him and, if possible, blushes even harder.

It takes Crowley a couple more seconds. He almost chokes on his own spit.

 _Fucking heaven_ , he thinks wildly, feeling his own cheeks heat up as he realises where Aziraphale’s thoughts are at.

Satan help him, but this Angel is going to be the death of him. How did banter about _horses_ , of all things, bring them to -

‘You are staying at this inn, are you not?’ Aziraphale says.

‘Ngk.’ Crowley blinks, trying to gather his thoughts. ‘Er, uh, y-yes. Hmm.’

‘Shall we …’ Aziraphale licks his lips slowly, ‘shall we have some wine delivered up to your room?’

Crowley goes still, fingers twitching on the tabletop. Even a millennium and a half later, what Aziraphale is alluding to neither escapes him nor leaves him feeling like he has been socked in the gut.

It is not the second, or even third or fourth time, that Aziraphale has used liquor as an invitation for something that decidedly does not involve drinking*. And so Crowley is about to shrug off his usual reaction and take Aziraphale up on the offer, like he always does.

(* Not alcohol, anyway.)

But then the Angel, unexpectedly, adds, ‘What you did for me with Hamlet was exceedingly nice. I should like to do something nice for you, as well.’

For a long moment, Crowley doesn’t react. His first thought is a knee-jerk reflex, that _he is a Demon, he is not nice_ ; but that is completely overshadowed by the realisation that…

His blood runs cold in a way reminiscent of a memory that still makes his heart ache.

Does Aziraphale actually think that -?

Before he can finish the thought, Aziraphale is rising to his feet. With a small, familiar tilt of his lips,Aziraphale leaves their table, heading in the direction of the door that leads to the inn’s rented rooms. He throws a look over his shoulder* at Crowley before disappearing through it.

(* Aziraphale has mastered a manner of doing this very simple action such that it appears both innocent, like he’s simply making sure Crowley is following him, and _coy_ to the point of seductive.

It’s definitely not healthy for Crowley’s heart.)

Crowley remains frozen. He can just stay here, he thinks. He can stay and simply refuse to entertain Aziraphale’s implication that Crowley had made Hamlet a success - that he’d gone several hundred fucking miles out of his way to make real something that would make Aziraphale happy - just so that the Angel would spread his legs for him.

He breathes out shakily. It’s not like they always fall into bed together. He can say no this time, when Aziraphale clearly thinks Crowley is so low that -

His thoughts stutter to a halt. Aziraphale has reappeared in the doorway.

The Angel is wearing a look of puzzlement that quickly devolves into surprise, and then downright _hurt_ , when he sees that Crowley hasn’t left the table. He looks down at the floor, his flaming cheeks evident even across the room.

Crowley feels something snap inside him at the sight of Aziraphale’s abject mortification at Crowley’s seeming rejection of him.

He’s halfway across the room before he realises what he’s doing and by then, there is no point in stopping. Aziraphale makes a soft noise of surprise when Crowley grabs his wrist, but he doesn’t protest as Crowley pulls him down the corridor beyond, up a wooden flight of steps, and into his rented room.

Fuck, he has never been able to say no to Aziraphale.

Crowley shuts the door behind them with a thought, dropping Aziraphale’s hand as he turns to the Angel. They regard each other in silence, Crowley standing stock still and Aziraphale wringing his hands together.

‘I…’ Aziraphale begins hesitantly, ‘I thought that perhaps you didn’t -’

‘This is what you wanted, right,’ Crowley interrupts, his voice rough. ‘Some _wine_ up here?’

‘I rather got the impression…’ Aziraphale bites his lower lip, and again, he looks dejected, like Crowley has hurt his feelings. ‘I mean, if - if you don’t want me …’

Crowley almost groans. There’s the catch, isn’t it. He never not wants Aziraphale.

‘That is categorically not the case.’

Aziraphale’s eyes light up, cautiously and then at full power, just like he had when Crowley agreed to do the Hamlet miracle.

Crowley’s knees go a little weak. He’s hopeless and beyond saving in the face of Aziraphale’s joy and smile. That blessed smile.

Glad that Aziraphale no longer seems hurt, Crowley steels himself, preparing to explain why he’d stayed back at the table. But he’s barely parted his lips before they are covered with another pair, pushing the words on the tip of Crowley’s tongue back into his mouth.

Crowley grunts in surprise, eyes widening at his sudden armful of Angel, but Aziraphale doesn’t draw back. He cups Crowley’s cheek in one hand, settling the other in Crowley’s hair on the back of his neck to hold him close as Aziraphale kisses him soundly.

Crowley kisses him back, purely on reflex, and Aziraphale makes pleased little sounds as he sucks on Crowley’s upper lip. He breaks away, pausing for a moment to sigh softly into the space between their lips before pressing in again.

‘Unh.’ Crowley tilts his head back, and Aziraphale gives a disappointed whine as his eager mouth misses its target.

‘Angel, I…’ Crowley begins breathlessly, determined to say what he’s been thinking ever since Aziraphale offered to _repay his kindness_.

It is a bit difficult, however, since Aziraphale’s lips have instead sought the only other patch of skin available to him, which is Crowley’s throat. Crowley struggles to gather his scrambled thoughts as the Angel greedily kisses him, licking over his Adam’s apple and then lower to suck on the dip of his throat, just visible under the v-cut of his high collar.

‘A-Aziraphale,’ Crowley gasps, squirming under the unceasing kisses and feeling rather _ambushed_ , never mind that he’s brought Aziraphale to his room. His body is already reacting, the feel of Aziraphale against him enough to set his nerve endings on fire.

And they are so close together he can feel the Angel’s own interest as well, beginning to press back against him.

But, blessed Heaven, Crowley doesn’t want to sleep with Aziraphale like this. Not when the Angel thinks Crowley’s treat of a miracle came with an implicit price for sex.

‘Y-you - you only got back from Edinburgh this morning,’ Crowley is finally able to manage. ‘Shouldn’t you rest a bit?’

‘The afternoon show has me quite rejuvenated, thank you.’ Aziraphale finally draws away to smile up at him, his fingers tracing the leather in Crowley’s black doublet.

‘It is not lost on me that you did an extra miracle for me, outside of our Arrangement,’ Aziraphale continues, his voice lowering. He presses up against Crowley, hands coming to rest on his shoulders as he leans in again.

‘I’m just returning the favour,’ he whispers against Crowley’s lips.

Crowley almost recoils. ‘Favour,’ he rasps, unable to hide the sourness the word leaves on his tongue.

 _Deja fucking vu_. Crowley remembers all too well how he’d used that very term to beseech Aziraphale into their professional work Arrangement. Exchanging their divine and infernal assignments to ease each other’s workloads, as _favours_ to each other.

Bless it all to Heaven, Crowley should’ve known it would come back to bite him in the arse in this context.

 _Right_. Because this is all it is, their little wicked game. Just a favour they do for each other.

Crowley’s reaction doesn’t escape Aziraphale. His brows knot in a frown, a hint of concern sparking in his eyes.

‘Let me rephrase myself,’ he says, careful and pointed. ‘Consider this a thank-you.’

Aziraphale moves to kiss him again, but damn it, what he’s said isn’t any _better_.

Crowley tears his lips free. ‘Bless it, I didn’t make Hamlet popular just for - for _this_! I said it was - was, ugh, it was my _treat_ , Aziraphale! I did it because I _wanted_ to, for you!’

Aziraphale stiffens in his arms.

Crowley blesses under his breath. He’s gone and said too much now. Two damning words too much.

The Angel peers up at him, his blue eyes shining with an emotion Crowley can’t read.

‘And would I be here if I didn’t _want_ to?’

The simple words are like a wave of fire, washing over Crowley from hair to toe. He gapes at Aziraphale, unmoving as the Angel carefully lifts the dark-tinted eyeglasses to reveal Crowley’s shocked eyes.

Banishing the glasses to some unknown place with that little miracle Aziraphale often employs when they are together like this, he says softly, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice,

‘Unless … you don’t want to?’

Crowley slumps his shoulders, helpless because how can he _not_ want to when Aziraphale says something like that? Aziraphale sees the plain surrender and, with a smile that pierces Crowley in his very heart, wraps Crowley up in another kiss.

It begins slower this time, their lips sliding over each other in a careful dance before the touch of Crowley’s tongue along Aziraphale’s bottom lip has the Angel melting into Crowley’s embrace.

Moaning around Crowley’s tongue plundering his mouth, Aziraphale starts tugging at Crowley’s doublet, his hands grabbing with impatient need. He gasps when Crowley obliges with a snap of his fingers, vanishing both of their outfits which appear in a messy pile on a side table.

Aziraphale sees the display and makes a protesting sound, pulling away to no doubt complain about his pretty clothes getting wrinkled. However, at that very moment, Crowley takes advantage of the lack of that irritating ruff around Aziraphale’s neck to finally get at the skin that has been hidden from him.

The Angel shudders as Crowley’s mouth, wet and hot, brands the side of his neck, sucking bruising kisses into the fair skin. Crowley has no qualms about leaving marks, at least not in this current era in England. Aziraphale has taken delightfully to the extravagant clothing of the upper classes, and when all this is over, the lovely necklace of love bites Crowley intends to leave on him will be nicely hidden behind those ruffs he so favours.

Hugging Aziraphale’s wonderfully soft, naked body to his own, Crowley delights in the way Aziraphale shivers and clutches at him. He mouths along the Angel’s shoulder, nipping and licking while his hands wander, winding up Aziraphale’s broad back and then down to palm his plump cheeks.

The Angel jumps a little, his breath hitching as Crowley fills his hands with Aziraphale’s arse.

‘C-Crowley!’ Aziraphale whines, half a protest.

‘Still sore?’ Crowley murmurs into his neck. ‘Want me to make it better?’

‘No, I…’ Aziraphale swallows. ‘It’s … not bad.’

Crowley raises an eyebrow. ‘Oh, angel,’ he croons in a dark voice, ‘do you _like_ it?’

He digs his fingers into Aziraphale’s buttocks and the Angel whines again at the mix of pain and pressure, but there is no doubt as to the pure lust in his voice. So Crowley does it again, massaging the plush flesh of Aziraphale’s arse; he is rewarded with a needy moan as Aziraphale clutches harder at him, pressing tight to Crowley’s front. They are both fully hard now, and Crowley groans as Aziraphale’s cock presses against his.

‘Fuck,’ he grunts. ‘All that talk downstairs about being used to a _sore bottom_. Is this what you think about when you’re sore from riding? About all the times _I’ve_ left you with a sore arse?’

The noise Aziraphale makes at Crowley’s words makes his cock twitch. He is moving against Crowley now, hips working to rub his prick against Crowley’s with long slow strokes. Crowley’s hands follow the movement, kneading Aziraphale’s buttocks to the rhythm of his hips.

‘Crowley, please,’ Aziraphale whispers.

‘Please what?’ Crowley growls into his ear, leaning down to nip at his neck again. ‘You’re already sore but you wanted to come here as soon as you made that little slip-up. What do you want, angel?’

‘Crowley…’

‘Do you want to be fucked? Arse not sore enough already? Do you want me to bend you over and pound you into the bed until all you can feel for the next week is me?’

Aziraphale makes a choked sound. Winding his fingers into Crowley’s long hair, Aziraphale buries his face in Crowley’s shoulder, whimpering as he writhes harder against Crowley’s aching cock.

‘Or,’ Crowley continues in a low hiss, grabbing harder at Aziraphale’s arse to increase the friction between them, ‘maybe you want to ride me instead of the blessed horse. My cock will treat you much better than a saddle.’

‘Oh God,’ Aziraphale moans and Crowley stills for a moment. He hides a smirk in Aziraphale’s neck. Getting the Angel to blaspheme in bed is such a rare treat, and he silently rejoices.

Aziraphale then realises what he’s just said. ‘Oh God,’ he repeats, stricken, and then makes the kind of consonant-filled sound that is more Crowley’s territory at the realisation that he’s taken the Lord’s name in vain this time.

Crowley can’t help but chuckle, drawing back to flash a wicked grin. ‘Not bad, angel. I believe that’s a record.’

Aziraphale squirms. ‘Oh, we shouldn’t be …’ he whispers, brows furrowing.

Crowley doesn’t reply to that. It is just like Aziraphale to revert to his superficial protests in such a moment as this.

Instead, Crowley responds with a deliberate roll of his hips, bringing Aziraphale’s attention acutely back to his prick and its intimate relations with Crowley’s. Aziraphale can say all the ‘ _we shouldn’t_ ’s he likes, but Crowley knows by now that the Angel will not leave until they have fucked their brains out.

He is about to drag Aziraphale to the small but comfortable enough bed to do just that when, without warning, a small flash of light appears right over it.

Startled, they let go of each other, turning as one towards the bed. Lying unassumingly on the fresh, clean sheets is what looks to be a letter, the paper white and pristine and carefully folded.

Crowley can practically smell the ozone from here.

‘Heaven?’ He asks tensely, wondering if he ought to make a run for it.

Aziraphale nods, his face tight. Catching Crowley’s expression, he says quickly, ‘No need to worry, they don’t know you’re here. It’s a message; it’s designed to appear wherever I happen to be.’

Right. And Aziraphale happens to be in the room of a Demon, minutes away from being thoroughly ravished by said Demon.

Not anymore.

Fighting down the lump of disappointment and irritation welling up inside him, Crowley gestures gingerly at the missive. ‘Shouldn’t you get that?’

‘It can only mean one thing; a new assignment.’ Aziraphale sighs. ‘I had hoped there would be a reprieve after that trip to Edinburgh. It appears not to be the case this time.’

‘You have to leave immediately?’

‘I should … but,’ Aziraphale looks at Crowley from under his lashes, ‘I could … spare a few minutes, perhaps.’

Crowley waits only a split second before he pulls Aziraphale back into his arms, crushing their mouths together in a desperate kiss. Aziraphale reacts immediately, throwing his arms around Crowley’s neck to bury his hands in his long hair once more. He rolls his body, rubbing against Crowley again; Crowley’s erection, which had started to somewhat ebb at the unwelcome arrival of Heaven’s missive, returns with renewed interest.

A few minutes. Crowley’s heart is sinking. A few minutes with Aziraphale is all he’ll receive for this encounter, and it had started out so well too.

It’s fine. He’ll take what he can get.

‘What do you want?’ Crowley asks against Aziraphale’s lips.

‘There isn’t much time, but ah!’ Aziraphale gasps as Crowley grinds against him again, ‘oh, that feels good.’

There isn’t time for a proper fuck, not the way Crowley wants to do it. It has been a while since they had an encounter where a bed was involved; Crowley wants to lay Aziraphale down, and have him writhing on Crowley’s tongue and fingers as he sweetly opens Aziraphale up before giving the Angel all the cock he wants.

He mourns the missed opportunity but Crowley has always been good at working with what he has. He can still make Aziraphale feel good.

Without another word, he pushes Aziraphale back until he is crowded up against the door. Pressing a swift kiss to his lips, Crowley drops to his knees.

‘Oh,’ Aziraphale breathes in realisation. And then, ‘ _Oh_!’, throwing his head back against the door with a thud when Crowley, without preamble, swallows him down to the hilt.

Crowley moans at the familiar taste and feel of Aziraphale’s heavy cock in his mouth, his head pressing against Crowley’s relaxed throat. Slowly, he pulls off, sucking and pressing his tongue to the underside of Aziraphale’s prick until only the cockhead remains in his mouth. Looking up at Aziraphale, Crowley sucks on it, laving his sinuous tongue over and around the head until Aziraphale’s thighs are shaking.

Aziraphale grabs at his hair, tugging helplessly as Crowley sinks back onto his cock, taking it all the way in again.

‘Crowley,’ he moans, ‘oh, that feels … _ahh_! Ah … Crowley, please…’ Rapidly blinking his eyes open, Aziraphale looks desperately down at Crowley. ‘If we do it this way, I won’t have time to, to - oh! Ohh … time to return the favour.’

Crowley almost cringes at the word again. He pulls off to mutter, ’Doesn’t matter’, before sucking Aziraphale down again.

‘No,’ Aziraphale protests. ‘I’m here to … I want to … oh, Crowley, I want to please you as well.’

That gives Crowley pause, his nose buried in the thatch of blond curls on Aziraphale’s pelvis. For a moment, he considers telling the Angel that it pleases him to just see Aziraphale pleased.

But Aziraphale, now that Crowley no longer has him panting, looks agitated. He clearly doesn’t want a one-way blowjob right now.

Carefully, Crowley pulls off, letting his tongue flick at the Angel’s slit. He gets to his feet, only to have Aziraphale tighten his fingers in Crowley’s hair again, this time to pull him in for another heated kiss.

Their bodies come together again and Crowley groans at the press of their cocks once more as Aziraphale licks into his mouth. He leans into the Angel, pressing him into the door as he grinds their hips together. Aziraphale moans, muffling the sound of his pleasure against Crowley’s lips.

Crowley pulls back slightly to look down at the slide of their cocks against each other, precum beading on their tips. Aziraphale’s cock is glistening already with Crowley’s spit, and the wet drag of it against Crowley’s is spine-tingling.

Abruptly, Aziraphale swings his right leg around Crowley, hooking it around the back of his thigh to bring the Demon even closer. Crowley grabs the leg under one luscious thigh, letting his weight push Aziraphale even harder against the door as he aligns their pelvises and rubs earnestly on the Angel. The slide of their leaking cocks is growing wetter, their precum mixing together, and Crowley cries out when Aziraphale suddenly frees a hand from his hair to wrap it around their pricks instead.

Breathing hard, Aziraphale meets Crowley’s eyes as he carefully moves his hand, spreading their combined slick over them both. Crowley whines as Aziraphale’s thumb brushes over his slit; his fingers don’t linger, instead sliding down to the base of their cocks again before repeating the movement. The touch is wetter than before and Crowley realises that Aziraphale must have miracled* some form of oil or other lubricant on to his palm.

(* The fact that his cock** takes over his higher brain functions during their clandestine meetings is the only reason Crowley doesn’t tease Aziraphale about his frivolous use of miracles - despite his prim references to Heaven’s rules - in the middle of sex.

** Or whatever else Crowley is in the mood to have between his legs.)

Leaning forward, Crowley sinks his teeth into Aziraphale’s neck, nibbling at the skin where it meets his broad shoulder. He isn’t a fan of the huge neck ruffs that are in fashion right now, but Crowley has zero complaints, not when he is so free to litter the Angel’s skin with as many love bites as he wants. When Aziraphale returns his ministrations with hot, wet kisses to Crowley’s own shoulder, licking and nipping at him in turn, Crowley twists to latch onto Aziraphale’s ear. With a light tug at the earlobe with his teeth, he moves up, licking slyly along the shell of his ear.

Aziraphale huffs out a laugh. ’Oh, that tickles.’

‘What?’ Crowley lifts his head.

‘Your beard…’ Aziraphale takes the little goatee Crowley is inordinately proud of, between thumb and forefinger as one might take a lover’s chin, and suddenly yanks Crowley forward into a rough kiss.

Crowley hisses into Aziraphale’s mouth but doesn’t break away, kissing him fervently and undulating his hips harder against Aziraphale. Between the Angel’s constant touching and tugging, he’s getting the feeling that Aziraphale rather likes Crowley’s long hair - and pulling on it.

Crowley doesn't mind; the sharp sting of it is, remarkably, only adding to the pleasure.

‘Are you close?’ he asks Aziraphale gruffly.

Crowley himself isn’t despite the heat pooling in his gut. Rutting isn't always enough to bring him off, though Aziraphale has certainly come from it before under the right circumstances. But now they are running out of time and Crowley is adamant that Aziraphale doesn’t leave his arms unsatisfied.

Aziraphale, who has let go of their cocks amid the neck kissing, looks at Crowley with a mix of pleasure and need.

‘It feels so good but …’ Aziraphale licks his lips. ’I … I want more.’

‘Tell me what you want, angel,’ Crowley says, hips still working diligently.

‘Surprise me,’ Aziraphale says.

Crowley blinks, taken aback. His lips quirk up. ‘Like I surprised you with Hamlet.’

Aziraphale chuckles. ‘Oh, I didn’t doubt for a second that you would deliver.’ He meets Crowley’s eyes earnestly. ‘You always do. Always.’

Crowley doesn't know what to say to that, so he simply kisses Aziraphale.

Aware that they need to end this soon, Crowley considers taking their pricks in hand like Aziraphale had done and jerking them both off. But then he is struck by another idea. There isn’t time to accomplish it the human way like he’d prefer, but given they are supernatural entities, Crowley can take a shortcut to the main course, to give Aziraphale that extra nudge to tip him over the edge.

Breaking the kiss, Crowley wordlessly presses the index and middle fingers of his right hand to Aziraphale’s lips. The Angel’s eyes widen, but he opens his mouth readily. His tongue, warm and slick, rises to probe curiously at Crowley’s fingers, sliding around and between them to wet the digits. Carefully, he closes his lips around the fingers, sucking languidly on them, his eyes never leaving Crowley’s.

The obscene sight of it makes Crowley growl under his breath, wanting nothing more than to push Aziraphale down to his knees and fuck that damnable mouth. Crowley has been entranced by that mouth since the blessed Garden wall; from the most angelic of smiles to the filthy stretch of those lips around Crowley’s cock, Aziraphale has him ruined on every count.

Slowly, Crowley slips his fingers out, Aziraphale sucking on them until they leave his lips, leaving a string of saliva behind. With a thought, he miracles Aziraphale ready and the Angel yelps at the unexpected sensation. Crowley sees the realisation set in his eyes as it dawns on Aziraphale what Crowley is intending.

His mouth opens in a silent ‘O’, pupils blown wide as Crowley brings their rocking bodies to a careful halt so he can reach into the cleft of Aziraphale’s arse. His fingers find Aziraphale’s hole, stretched loose and dripping wet, and the Angel mewls when Crowley slides his spit-slicked fingers inside in one smooth move. Watching the escalating intensity of Aziraphale’s pleasure on his face, Crowley crooks his fingers, teasing along the supple walls until he is pressing into that sweet sensitive spot. Aziraphale’s reaction is instantaneous the moment Crowley finds his prostate; the Angel almost wails, banging the back of his head on the door.

With one hand wound around Aziraphale to finger him, their bodies are at an odder angle now, the Angel’s lower body arching out. But Aziraphale is too far gone to notice let alone complain; he pants helplessly as Crowley leans his torso on Aziraphale’s chest, pressing his back against the door. Stroking his fingers where they are buried inside Aziraphale, Crowley undulates, starting up the rocking movement between their hips again.

Moaning loudly, Aziraphale buries his face in Crowley’s shoulder, shaking from the stimulation.

‘Look at me,’ Crowley mutters.

When Aziraphale doesn’t respond, still whimpering helplessly into Crowley’s skin, the Demon removes his free hand from under Aziraphale’s thigh, reaching up to wind his fingers through the platinum blond hair. He tugs Aziraphale’s head back, forcing the Angel to meet his eyes.

Aziraphale’s lips part in another sound of pleasure that Crowley swallows in a hot kiss, fucking the Angel’s mouth with his tongue in time with their hips, the wet thrust of his fingers inside Aziraphale’s body.

This might be one of their more hurried trysts, but he wants all of Aziraphale’s senses to be filled with nothing but _Crowley_ when he comes. And Crowley intends to make him come so hard that Crowley never leaves his thoughts for the next several weeks, if not months and years, until their paths cross again and Crowley can have Aziraphale once more; slow and passionate in a soft warm bed next time, perhaps.

The way Aziraphale deserves to be made love to.

No, no. _Fucked_ , Crowley reminds himself, nearly losing his pace for a moment. The way Aziraphale deserves to be fuc -

He can’t finish the thought.

Aziraphale buries both hands in Crowley’s hair, pulling helplessly as Crowley licks into his mouth, moving his fingers steadily inside him while his hips meet Aziraphale’s in a dance that’s rapidly falling out of rhythm as the Angel frantically strokes his prick against Crowley’s, twice, thrice more and -

The sound Aziraphale makes as his cock finally spurts between them sinks into Crowley like a heat wave, setting every nerve ending alight. Crowley tightens his arm around Aziraphale, holding him up as he shakes in Crowley’s embrace violently, fingers yanking at Crowley’s hair.

The Demon keeps rubbing his hard cock against Aziraphale, his fingers fucking the Angel relentlessly through his orgasm until Aziraphale finally grabs Crowley by the waist to stop him, trembling from overstimulation.

Crowley slows down but doesn’t let go of Aziraphale, greedily taking in the look of pure bliss on his face as Aziraphale, breathing hard, gently comes down from his high.

Blinking open his eyes, Aziraphale smiles dazedly at Crowley. It slowly dims when he feels Crowley’s hard cock still pressed to his hip.

‘Oh, do you -?’ Aziraphale begins.

‘’M fine,’ Crowley says dismissively. ‘Besides, this went on for a while. You should get going.’

Aziraphale frowns at him. ‘I told you, Crowley. This isn’t just for me. I want to ple -’

‘I’m very pleased,’ Crowley interrupts, mouth curving up into a cocky grin.

The Angel huffs, looking unamused. Then his expression shifts, a soft blush dusting his cheeks. ‘I can help you finish.’

‘Angel, I told you -’

‘I’m still prepared and ready, from just now.’ Aziraphale turns in the circle of Crowley’s arms, to lean his front against the door and presenting Crowley with a glorious view of his naked back.

‘You could in - in my …’ Aziraphale glances at him over his shoulder. His cheeks are red. ‘You can use me.’

That last sentence, if nothing else, is enough to break Crowley’s brain a little.

‘Aziraphale,’ he chokes.

Aziraphale remains as he is, presenting himself invitingly to Crowley. And Crowley can’t lie to himself that he’s not tempted*.

(* An irony that presented itself from that first day on the Garden wall, right off the bat.)

But this is still not how Crowley wants to fuck Aziraphale; he wants it done right, make it sweet and perfect for Aziraphale. There will be a time for that, but it’s not today.

Crowley grazes his palms over Aziraphale’s arse, listening to the Angel’s hiss of anticipation as he strokes the soft cheeks. He kneads the plump flesh once before slipping his hand lower, using his powers to coat it generously in oil.

Aziraphale jumps in surprise at the direction Crowley’s hand takes. ‘What are you doing?’

Crowley presses up behind Aziraphale, teasing along the Angel’s sensitive perineum. Aziraphale shivers and Crowley strokes him again before pressing the flat of his lubricated palm to the insides of Aziraphale’s thighs.

‘Using you,’ he murmurs in Aziraphale’s ear.

The Angel’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t protest, leaning against the door and sticking his arse out slightly, allowing Crowley to slick him up between his legs.

‘Keep those sweet thighs pressed tight for me, angel.’

With another shiver, Aziraphale obliges. Crowley pauses only to press a reassuring kiss to the nape of Aziraphale’s neck. He pushes his cock into the gap between Aziraphale’s thick thighs, groaning at the slick slide of oiled skin over his sensitive prick. Pulling out, he rocks in again, harder this time, and hears Aziraphale whine as Crowley’s pelvis and hips slap his arse.

With a low chuckle, Crowley drawls, ‘Looks like I can help you with that sore arse you so wanted, angel.’

Aziraphale doesn’t get a chance to reply as Crowley wraps his arms around his middle and begins to fuck his thighs in earnest. Crowley’s cock slides over his perineum and nudges his balls with every thrust, and small sounds of pleasure drop from Aziraphale’s lips as Crowley fucks him into the door.

‘This what you wanted?’ Crowley growls in his ear. ‘For me to use you. And take my pleasure from your body’?*

(* _Like the wicked thing you want me to be_ , he doesn’t add. He tries not to think the words.)

Breathing hard, Aziraphale doesn't reply. But he reaches over his left shoulder, grabbing the back of Crowley’s head and pulling on his hair. Crowley reads that as an enthusiastic affirmative.

Lowering his head, he begins to bite and kiss along Aziraphale’s shoulders, mouthing along the heated skin to lick his neck and ear as he thrusts his prick between the Angel’s plump thighs. Keeping one arm tight around Aziraphale’s waist, he grabs the Angel’s chin with the other and twists Aziraphale’s face to the left, leaning over his shoulder to capture his lips in a messy uncoordinated kiss.

Aziraphale responds breathlessly, leaning his head back at an uncomfortable angle to eagerly receive Crowley’s seeking tongue. Crowley withdraws only to bite down on Aziraphale’s lower lip, making the Angel cry out. His fingers tighten painfully in Crowley’s hair, yanking at the curls.

The sharp sting of pain couples with the pleasure cresting in his gut and Crowley moans into Aziraphale’s mouth, spattering Aziraphale’s thighs and the door with his spend.

He sags against the Angel, panting until he catches his breath. As he pulls back, Aziraphale turns around, leaning his back against the door again.

Crowley takes him in longingly for several seconds. Hair tousled, lips kiss-bitten and stomach painted with his own spend, Aziraphale looks beautifully ravished. His neck and shoulders proudly display the tribute Crowley has paid them, and the sight of the mess Crowley has made between his legs makes him want to slide right back in and unravel the Angel again.

He wishes he can capture the moment in some way, to keep it with him in some tangible manner other than in mere memory.

Aziraphale straightens. His eyes flick towards the bed and Crowley remembers the missive lying there.

Right. Time is ticking and what should have been a quick tryst has already dragged on longer than it should have.*

(* Not that Crowley is complaining in any way or form.)

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley cleans them up and dresses them, leaving Aziraphale looking as put together as he always does in public.

Aziraphale gives him a smile of gratitude for the miracle as he hands over Crowley’s glasses from wherever he had banished them to earlier. Collecting Heaven’s message, he walks to the door where he hesitates on the threshold.

‘The play today was really lovely,’ he says, looking back at Crowley.

Crowley steps forward hesitantly, wondering if Aziraphale might allow one last kiss. But they both start at the sound of footsteps as another boarder appears down the corridor, making for the flight of steps leading downstairs. He pays little mind to them but Aziraphale has already backed out of Crowley’s room.

Aziraphale meets his eyes and gives a small smile. ‘Until next time, then, my dear.’

And then he is gone, leaving Crowley hanging for a kiss that will never come, and a sinking feeling of emptiness.*

(* Because Crowley is a giving thing, and perhaps he is giving just a little too much.

Crowley is a giving thing but maybe one day, if he dares to imagine it, he can give to Aziraphale and on that day, Aziraphale may just meet him halfway, to fill Crowley back up.)

**Author's Note:**

> I know I promised an Ineffable Wives encounter in this verse, but I just had to get this one out of my system first. 
> 
> Please drop a comment and let me know what you thought? Or hmu on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) or [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> More of my other Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


End file.
